


Untied

by Nny



Series: 2019 Valentine's Requests [8]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 22:05:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17795591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/pseuds/Nny
Summary: It’s one of those hokey things. Like astrological matching services, or those people who claim to see auras, or posting birthmarks online in the hopes you’ll find someone the same. It’s bullshit, even if that bullshit happens to be true; sure, Clint can see the red strings that tie people together, but he’ll be fucked if he believes in fate.





	Untied

It’s one of those hokey things. Like astrological matching services, or those people who claim to see auras, or posting birthmarks online in the hopes you’ll find someone the same. It’s bullshit, even if that bullshit happens to be true; sure, Clint can see the red strings that tie people together, but he’ll be fucked if he believes in fate.

-

Mostly, Clint’s childhood was loud and confusing, painful and punitive,  _lonely_. Took longer than it ought to for him to learn how to talk; took practically no time at all for him to learn that he shouldn’t. He didn’t even realise no one else could see the bright strings until he tried to cut through the one that tied his mom to his dad.

See?

Bullshit.

The world isn’t full of them. It’d be nice if the world was full of them, maybe, and maybe the world would be a nicer place. They’re occasional, though, and they vary in how they present, with some wound thick like a ship’s rope, and others cobweb thin. Clint likes the ones that stretch off into the distance, likes the possibility of them; he’s not sure how to feel about the ones that are short and tied between two people. He’s not sure what the feeling is called.

It’s easier, when it comes to his. Red, and thick, and frayed all the way through to broken. That feeling, that’s got to be relief.

-

If he was gonna guess -

If he thought about the strings at all, which he doesn’t, and  _if_  he was gonna guess, he would’ve thought Steve would have a string as broken as Clint’s is, stretched tight and snapped by an impossible fall. He’d’ve thought romance of the ages, and starcrossed, all that shit - not to mention that he’d seen pictures, and Bucky Barnes was the kinda beautiful that feels like a punch.

So he’s kinda startled to see Steve’s string stretching off and tethered tight when he meets him, and then the winged guy with the wide grin comes as something of a surprise.

More of a surprise, though, is that they’re accompanied by the Winter Soldier, and the real humdinger is that the Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes, armless and stringless and mostly memory free. Clint is baffled, but it’s not like the strings have ever made a lick of fuckin’ sense.

-

Clint likes working with the Winter Soldier, which isn’t something he’d’ve seen coming. He likes his efficiency, and his dry commentary, and the way he can punch straight through someone’s head.

(Sure, he likes that with caveats - gotta make sure it’s the right sorta head - but it is undeniably a plus.)

He’s willing to give the guy his back before maybe anyone else on the team, even Steve, and halfway through their first mission he’s grinning into Bucky’s face, into his dubious expression, and tightening the line that’s holding them together.

“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says, and Clint pats him fondly on the cheek.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he says. “Don’t drop me.” He slams his hand into the emergency release, bracing against the wind that rushes in, and leans way too far out of the jet.

-

“Bullshit!” Clint hollers, and pelts the TV screen with kernels, and maybe Sam’s gonna kill him in a minute or less but Bucky’s right there with him, right beside him, another handful of popcorn scattering against Ryan Gosling’s dumb face.

Clint hates movies about strings more than just about anything, although he has the good sense not to tell anyone that they  _don’t look like that_. He hates the way they’re always shown to be the answer to everything, hates the shit the characters will put up with from the person they’re tied to, hates the tragedy that’s attached to loose knots and frayed ends. He’d bet not one of the damned writers has ever had a string, ‘cos if they had -

He digs out another handful and flings it, stray kernels falling to join the unbroken line between his and Bucky’s thighs.

-

“I’m not  _saying_  they’re infallible,” Steve says, exasperated. “I’m just saying that they’re not inherently flawed. The Universe has gotta have some kinda plan, right?”

Bucky scowls and makes some kinda point about - who knows, something that sounds like he scraped it off the Discovery channel in the sleepless hours of the night. Clint yawns and slumps into his side, 'cos most nights he’s right there beside him on the couch.

He lifts his hand obligingly when Bucky takes it, when he makes a production of tying them together with a fruit roll-up.

“Look,” Bucky says, flatly. “Fate.”

“Tasty, tasty fate,” Clint mumbles, and bites it right off Bucky’s finger.

“Nah,” Steve says, in that sad tone he always gets. “Yours was a lot thicker than that.”

Clint forces his eyes open, sees Bucky staring at Steve with wide eyes.

-

The world is swaying gently like a ship, and Clint keeps tripping over his laces, and he can’t quit with the dumb smile he’s wearing when Bucky rolls his eyes and kneels at his feet.

“You’re an idiot,” he says, and Clint concedes the point, trying to help Bucky tie his damn laces and only managing to accidentally anchor Bucky’s finger to his foot.

“Fucking  _Christ_ ,” Bucky says, but he’s laughing fit to bust, and Clint’s watching the lines of his face and hoping like hell that all the beer he’s had tonight won’t steal this because he figures - he figures it’s important, remembering when you fell in love.

-

“Get back here you little asshole!” Bucky hollers, and Clint cannot stop laughing, hanging weakly from where Spiderman has stuck their hands together, stuck their together to the wall.

“NOW KISS!” Spiderman yells back.

“Swear to god,” Bucky mumbles, “when I get my goddamn hands on you -” but Clint’s thinking fuck it, and Clint’s thinking  _yes_ , and he stands and cups Bucky’s cheek with his free hand and pulls him in close, tastes his mouth in a kiss that’s only made awkward by the way their hands are inescapably tied.


End file.
